


Tea and Sympathy

by MelindaYoung



Category: Sliders (TV)
Genre: Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-11-01
Updated: 1997-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelindaYoung/pseuds/MelindaYoung
Summary: During a brief stopover on a tranquil Earth, Quinn, Wade, and Rembrandt work through some of their grief over losing Arturo with the assistance of the late professor’s double, who hides a small secret from them.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4





	Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to the characters and scenarios from the Sliders television series. No financial benefit has been derived from the creation of this fan fiction, not even a free drink at a con. I am immensely grateful to the original owners, developers, and creative partners of the Sliders universe for their artistry and vision.
> 
> This story takes place a few weeks after “The Exodus, Part 2”
> 
> This story has not been authorized to be made available through third-party apps, especially fee-based apps. If you are reading this through an app, it has been copied illegally. Please report this copyright violation to the author on the Archive of Our Own website: archiveofourown.org/works/22150468
> 
> Original elements in this story Copyright (c) Melinda Young 2020

It was San Francisco again, and at first it looked like home. But it wasn’t, and since Rickman had already left, and they only had a few hours on this Earth, there wasn’t much to do besides see the sights and get a good meal.

They were in the university area, and Quinn was enjoying the familiar sights in the late afternoon sunshine. But the locale was a mixed blessing, as along with the pleasant recollections were memories of Professor Arturo. It was their first time being in a San Francisco like home since the Professor had died almost three weeks ago, and being here in such comfortable surroundings was making his thoughts of the Professor even harder to bear.

Quinn observed Wade. She’d been having a rough couple of slides, and he could tell she was thinking about the Professor as well. As she gazed around at the landmarks of home, she looked like she needed a good hug, or a good cry, or something. But he didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He looked at Rembrandt, who simply gave him a reassuring nod. Maggie appeared antsy, eager to be on their way and frustrated at the seven hour wait. Well, there was nothing Quinn could do for her, either.

Rembrandt studied Wade as she directed her attention to the surrounding streets, a keen anticipation in her eyes. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

She was embarrassed and cast her eyes down for a moment. “It’s so much like home, I keep expecting to see him walk around a corner.” Maggie made a quiet scoffing noise, but when Wade shot her a fiery gaze, Maggie glanced away as if suddenly interested in something down the street.

Rembrandt put a friendly arm around Wade’s shoulder. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one thinking about him.”

Quinn added quietly, “Yeah.”

She sighed. “It just seems like his kind of place, doesn’t it?”

Now that their thoughts about him had been acknowledged, the mood eased a bit. They continued down the street. The neighborhood was a pleasant mix of apartments and small shops and restaurants, and tantalizing aromas of dinner lured them from all sides. Rembrandt said, “I sure hope our money works here, because I’m starving.”

Quinn smirked at him and said, “Well, if it doesn’t, you could always sing for our supper.” Rembrandt smiled at that, and Quinn looked at Wade to see if his joke had raised a smile.

It hadn’t. She was looking at the signs over the restaurants. All the words were in English, but the names were mostly Russian: The Little Russian Tea Room, Dubroff’s, The Tchaikovsky House, Duchovny’s Tea House, the Samovar Express. “This San Francisco looks a lot more Russian than the one back home.”

“Yeah,” Quinn commented, “like Russian Hill grew into ‘Russian Subdivision.’”

Rembrandt looked at the onion-shaped dome of a church spire on the horizon. “It kinda reminds me of parts of Alaska.”

Quinn and Wade blinked in surprise. He said, “You’ve been to Alaska? You don’t seem like the arctic type to me.”

“Well, I toured a lot of awful places. I tell you, I just about froze my butt off in Juneau, and it was the middle of summer.”

A couple passed by, chatting in American English. Quinn watched them and said, “I guess here the Russians sold California to the United States along with Alaska.”

“Or instead of,” Wade offered. She looked at the tempting variety of restaurants around them. “Well, I say we have dinner. What time do we slide?”

Quinn looked at his watch. “Just before ten.” He looked at Wade. “You pick the spot.”

She gazed at the array of small restaurants, then a smirk grew. “How about Duchovny’s?”

Quinn shook his head. “Typical woman.” Wade chuckled at that.

Maggie frowned. “I don’t get it. What do you mean?”

Wade looked at her, and saw her confusion was genuine. “You mean you didn’t have a David Duchovny on your Earth?” She shook her head. “No wonder you’re like that.”

Maggie didn’t recognize the reference, but she understood very well that it was a dig. “Look, I’m not hungry. And I’m not interested in sitting around cooling my heels for five hours waiting for the timer. Where shall I meet you?”

The men turned to Wade, who regarded the restaurants again. Her eyes lingered on one that appeared small, cozy, comfortable. “Dubroff’s,” she said. “We’ll be there.”

Maggie nodded. “Okay. See you about 9:30.” She headed down the street.

As the three headed for the small restaurant, Rembrandt said to Wade in a teasingly pleading voice, “Why can’t we all just get along?”

Wade laughed at that. “Oh, shut up.”

Dubroff’s was the perfect choice. The menu was inexpensive, the selection varied, and the portions generous. And from what they saw of the tip money left on the next table, their tender was legal here.

They enjoyed a long, pleasant dinner of excellent Russian cuisine. Wade wasn’t too happy when the waitress presented her order of “low-fat” stroganoff with an extra dollop of sour cream on top—“You’ll get sick that thin,” the plump server stated authoritatively—but the place had such an infectiously friendly atmosphere that no one was surprised when a customer pulled out a balalaika and began to play for his fellow patrons.

Wade listened to the music, then grew wistful. “Can’t you just see the Professor here? He’d love this place.”

Rembrandt smiled and watched the balalaika player serenade a particularly bashful customer. “I can’t imagine him relaxing enough to enjoy a place like this. He wasn’t a ‘let his hair down’ kind of guy.”

Wade shook her head. “Don’t underestimate him. I think a lot of how he was was an act. You know, giving people what they expected.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Quinn said. “He was pretty much the way he wanted to be.”

“I’d go that far,” she said, squinting at him with conviction. “I think Maximillian Arturo was secretly a very romantic man. And very kind. And certainly very generous….” Her face clouded, and she quickly stopped before her emotions got the better of her. Rembrandt patted her hand, and she nodded in gratitude without looking at him.

The balalaika player stopped by their table as he began a new tune. He was singing—just a little off-key—in Russian, but all three at the table recognized the tune as “Those Were the Days.” Both Wade and Rembrandt were tempted to sing along with their serenader, but maybe no one knew an English version of this song and they both decided against it. But when he moved on to the next table, Wade gave in and began to sing quietly. The melancholy song about lost times fit her mood perfectly, and she was singing more for herself than anyone else. When the lyrics turned to standing before the tavern and nothing seeming the way it used to be, her voice wavered, and she picked up her napkin to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Quinn said as he patted her arm lightly.

“I just miss him so much.”

“We all do,” Rembrandt admitted.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “But this place is really getting to me.” She looked around with red eyes. “I mean, I almost expect him to come walking through the door.” She cast her sodden gaze around the room, then stared at the bar as her face fell open with shock. The others turned to see what she was looking at.

Standing at the bar, paying for a takeout dinner, was Professor Arturo—his double, anyway. He was at least thirty pounds lighter and in fitter shape than the man they had known, but he was still a most welcome sight. He nodded to the bartender and picked up his bag. He turned to go, then caught Wade in his line of sight. He stopped and returned her stare with a baffled frown.

In spite of herself, she stood slightly. “…Professor?”

After a moment, he blinked and shook off his stupefaction. He gathered himself and approached the table tentatively. He gave Wade a kind smile, then looked at the other two. His voice was hushed, but his words thundered in their ears. “You must be Sliders.”

They all stared at him, dumbfounded.

“May I join you?”

After a moment of confusion, the others offered him the extra chair at the table. Quinn stammered, “How did you know?”

Arturo seated himself comfortably between Quinn and Rembrandt. “I don’t know what it is about this place. Maybe we’re some sort of pan-dimensional cloverleaf or the like. But in the last eight months…well, you’re group number five.”

Quinn stammered a bit more. “Five?”

“That I encountered, anyway. Who knows how many others have come through that I’ve missed?”

Wade said quietly, “So you didn’t go with your world’s Sliders, then?”

“I don’t believe we had any. At least not your counterparts.” He looked at Quinn. “I did have your equivalent as a student. His name was Quinn Mallory. I remember we once had a very interesting, but ultimately futile, discussion in the hallway outside my office about time travel. Then he dropped out of school.” He frowned. “I found out later a very annoying friend of his talked him into going to look up an old girlfriend, and that was the last I saw of him. Pity, really. He had a fine mind and a great deal of potential.”

Quinn was smiling at his words, and the Professor gave him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry. Forgive me for ignoring the formalities. My name is Maximillian Arturo. I can’t assume my counterpart from your Earth shares the name.”

Wade’s smile was tinged with sadness. “He did.”

Arturo looked at her. “Did?”

The others didn’t speak for a moment. Rembrandt finally said, “We lost him a few Earths ago.”

Quinn added quietly, “He saved my life.”

Arturo observed their grief circumspectly. “I’m sorry.” The three introduced themselves, and as he looked at them, there was no mistaking the forlorn yearning on their faces. Thinking, he glanced at his watch. “How long are you here?”

Quinn replied, “We leave about 10:00 tonight.”

“Pity such a short stay,” he said. He nodded towards their plates. “Well, you’ve already had your dinner, and,” he indicated his takeout order, “I’m about to have mine. But my wife is out of town for a business trip.” Wade glanced at his hand and for the first time noticed his wedding ring. “If you’ll give me half an hour, I’d very much enjoy having you over to my house for tea and conversation.”

The others brightened at the invitation. Wade said gratefully, “That would be wonderful. Thanks.”

He wrote his address on a napkin and gave it to Quinn. “It’s a bit far to walk.” He stood up with a theatrical groan. “Especially after eating here.” The others smiled at that. “I’ll see you in half an hour, then.”

The others all nodded gratefully. “That’ll be great, thanks.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“It’s a date.”

He nodded a farewell, and the others, suddenly full of energy, returned to enjoying their meals with renewed energy.

The cab driver had seen many strange sights during his tenure as a cabby, but these three took the cake. They said nothing, but, every once in a while, a giggle would spill out. And every time he glanced at them in the rear view mirror, they all had to fight their laughter. Too much vodka, obviously.

When he stopped the cab in front of the address, they piled out of the back and the lanky one handed him fare and a generous tip. They were all beaming at him. “Thanks, Pavel!” they all said, giving in to their laughter. “See you again!” the young woman added with a cheerful wave. He frowned and shook his head. It was a darned good thing that they hadn’t been driving, being so drunk. He flipped the meter and turned the wheel to pull out onto the street, then noticed that his ID card had fallen askew…and his name had been hidden from sight. He looked back at them as they gazed at the house. How had they known his name?

The three regarded the beautiful old Victorian, and Wade looked around at the quiet, modestly upscale neighborhood. “This isn’t where our Professor lived.”

Rembrandt admired the houses. “I guess being a university professor pays better on this world.”

“Either that or his wife has a good job,” Quinn suggested.

Rembrandt said, “I sure hope Maggie doesn’t show up at the restaurant with two minutes to spare so she doesn’t have time to follow our directions here.”

“Yes,” Wade said dryly, “it would be a shame if we accidentally left her behind.”

Wade and Rembrandt eyed each other with growing smiles, his chastising and hers impish. Quinn finally started up the sidewalk to the house. “Okay, you two, knock it off. Let’s behave ourselves, okay?” They fell in step behind him, and they gathered at the front door as Quinn rang the bell.

At first there was silence, but then they heard footfalls down the stairs. Arturo opened the door and greeted them warmly. “Welcome! Come in. Did you have trouble finding the place?”

“No,” Wade said as they came through the door, “we got a ride from a friend.”

“Really?” Arturo said as he showed the way to the living room. “How extraordinary. Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable. The water should be ready in a few minutes. What type of tea would you like?”

The three found themselves admiring the house’s beautiful interior. One entire wall of the living room was nothing but books, and the rest was exquisitely decorated in antiques and complementary modern furnishings.

Quinn finally said, “Whatever you’ve got is fine.”

Arturo smiled at their open admiration for his house. “I’ll just go check on things then. Please look around. Make yourselves at home.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Wade let out a quiet “wow” as she admired the room. “This is gorgeous. You guys may have to drag me out of here at 10:00.”

Rembrandt nodded. “His wife’s got to be raking in the bucks.”

Quinn’s attention was caught by a beautiful globe near the corner of the giant bookcase. He went to it and spun it around to see how different this Earth was from their own. He blinked with surprise. “Hey,” he said quietly, “check this out.” The others joined him. “Look at this. There’s no Canada or Mexico. Everything is the United States from Alaska to the Panama Canal.”

Wade cocked an eyebrow. “I guess Manifest Destiny was a little more manifest here.”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Arturo said as he brought out a large tray with a tea pot and all the accessories from the kitchen. He set the tray on the coffee table before the sofa, and the three joined him. “It’s really quite fascinating how history unfolds on different Earths,” he said. “When I’ve had the time, I’ve questioned all the Sliders about their homes. None of theirs seem to be like this one.”

Wade sat on the sofa and let Arturo pour a cup of tea for her. “How did North America end up one whole country?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story. On your Earth, was Washington state through Alaska claimed by the Russians?”

“No,” Quinn replied, “just Alaska.”

Arturo nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting. That seems to be the usual pattern. Did Benedict Arnold capture Quebec during your American Revolution?”

“No,” Wade said, sipping her tea and finding it to her liking.

“Yes,” Arturo said, “very interesting indeed. All right. I’ll tell you what seems to be different on our world from those of most of the other Sliders. Arnold’s expedition took Quebec, and eventually all of Canada became part of the United States during the revolution. Did Czar Alexander make a deal with your Napoleon?”

“Deal?” Quinn said quizzically.

Arturo shook his head. “My, we are unique. As Napoleon was about to invade Russia, Czar Alexander made a deal with him—in exchange for neutrality for the rest of the war, he wanted all of Spain’s possessions in the New World.”

Wade coughed out a surprised laugh. “Wow, that was some kind of deal. A quarter of the land on the planet in exchange for not being burned to the ground. Smart guy.”

Arturo finished pouring tea for the others and settled into what was obviously his favorite easy chair. “Yes, well, it looked good on paper, but the Russian bureaucracy was singularly ill-suited to governing those lovely, high-spirited Spaniards, and within fifty years the entire arrangement had fallen apart. The Americans knew a good deal when they saw it and started buying up the northern half of Spanish America in bits and chunks. By 1870, what they hadn’t bought joined voluntarily after the Americans helped kick out the French occupying forces. It was the largest peaceful land annexation in the history of the planet.”

“And everyone lived happily ever after,” Rembrandt offered with a lift of his tea cup.

“Yes, well, not Europe. How long did your Napoleonic wars go on?”

“1815,” Wade answered.

Arturo shook his head. “Ours went until 1844. Europe was devastated. But from what I gather, our 20th century has been a walk in the park compared with everyone else’s. No world wars. Communism was an academic footnote. Calm, peaceful, perhaps even a bit boring. Very different from all the other Earths I’ve heard about.” He looked at his guests. “But enough history! Tell me about your travels.”

Quinn shrugged slightly. “Where do we begin?”

“Well,” Arturo said, “how did you begin? Were you all friends and you decided to go on this adventure together?”

Rembrandt cleared his throat loudly. Wade smiled at him. “Not exactly. Quinn built his sliding machine and invited me and our Professor to ‘go for a spin’….”

Wade told the story of their adventure and Arturo listened with rapt attention. As Quinn watched him listen to her, it was as if he was trying to absorb every detail, every last iota of information. Quinn wondered if he was making a study of all the stories from the various Sliders.

As Wade told the familiar story, Quinn’s attention drifted back to the house. It was charming and comfortable. Mrs. Arturo certainly had a way with decorating, even he had to admit. He stood and started to wander around the room. He looked at all the books—whole shelves were dedicated to physics and cosmology, while others were given over to poetry and history—he could guess they were “his” and “hers.” There was a baby grand piano in the next room, and the top was covered with family photos. He wandered over to look at them, and they seemed to be mostly photos of ancestors, although there were a few of Arturo as a boy with his parents. Quinn recalled their Arturo had lost his mother during World War II, but this one’s parents seemed to have survived until recent times. One photo of Arturo and a man who must have been his father, hoisting English pub glasses of beer in a jolly toast to the camera, looked no more than a few years old.

As he studied the photos on the piano, he noticed a few blank spots, and the hint of light dust trails said photos had been there recently but had been removed. Rembrandt joined him. “Nice house, huh?”

“Yeah. Remmy, have you seen any pictures of Arturo and his wife?”

Rembrandt looked around. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t noticed any.”

“That’s weird. I wonder why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s ugly.”

Quinn eyed his friend.

Rembrandt shrugged. “Hey, it’s possible. I mean, she could be really ugly. Break the camera ugly. Having a double-bagger isn’t something a man wants to brag about.”

Quinn had to smile. “Okay, okay, you made your point.” He looked back at Wade, who was happily wrapped up in telling some exciting escapade to her attentive listener. “When was the last time you saw her smile like that?”

Rembrandt watched as she punctuated a statement with a flourishing gesture and Arturo soaked up every word. “Too long.”

“Yeah. Way too long.” They wandered back into the living room.

By 8:00 p.m., everyone needed a break from the extended conversation, and Quinn and Wade went on a quick tour of the house while Arturo and Rembrandt attended to the dishes. Rembrandt found himself falling into familiar patterns with their host, and twice he had to remind himself this wasn’t their Arturo. As Rembrandt helped with washing the mountain of dishes stacked in the sink—his wife was away on a trip, that was for sure—he nodded gratefully. “Thanks for being so nice to Wade.”

“She’s a very charming young woman,” he replied. “It’s certainly my pleasure.”

“Yeah, but she really needs this. …She’s been in a bad way since we lost our Professor.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that. They were close, then?”

“He loved her like a daughter.” Arturo nodded thoughtfully. “And she adored him. I mean, they got on each other’s nerves sometimes, but we all did. That’s life.”

“How did your Arturo get on your nerves?” the host asked, taking a soapy plate from Rembrandt and rinsing it.

“Oh, well, he could be a major pompous windbag sometimes.” In spite of himself, Arturo laughed heartily at that. As the laughter filled the kitchen, Rembrandt glanced down with embarrassment. “No offense meant.”

Arturo continued to chuckle. “None taken.” He smiled at Rembrandt. “Tell me about him. What did you like best about him?”

“Well, the man was really smart. I mean, _really_ smart. He just knew all this stuff off the top of his head. And he was always willing to teach me and explain things, even if I couldn’t get it. And even though he was kind of set in his ways, he was usually willing to try new things. I guess sliding kind of makes you versatile. He could have been a real pain, but he wasn’t. Most of the time, anyway.” He glanced at Arturo, who chuckled.

“Tell me your favorite story about him.”

Rembrandt thought for a moment, then smiled. “Well, we were on his Earth where ninety percent of the men had been killed off by a biological weapon, and almost all the rest of them were kept in breeding facilities.”

“Breeding facilities?” Arturo said with amazement.

Rembrandt nodded, then smiled with the memory. “And the Professor, oh man, let me tell you, we had quite a time on that Earth….”

Quinn and Wade wandered up the stairs and around the second floor hallway. All of the doors to the rooms were open, save the one at the end of the hall. Both surmised it was the Arturos’ bedroom. They followed the smell of fresh paint to the room next door, and when Wade turned on the light, she smiled at the scene of a nursery being created. “Wow, how about that.”

“I wonder if they’re adopting,” he commented.

“They might be starting late,” she said. “Or maybe it’s not the same wife he had on Mindgame World.”

“That’s true.” He turned off the light, and they went back out to the hallway.

They stood outside the door of what looked like a home office. The light from the hall revealed a few stacks of folded laundry on the desk. She smiled. He really was baching it. She took in the artwork on the hallway wall and leaned against the office’s door frame. “Wouldn’t it be great to live in a house like this? You know, sometimes I’d really like to have stuff again. Like clothes, and my own bed. And a home.” She gazed at the beautifully appointed house and sighed.

Quinn put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get home. And you’ll sell the movie rights to your journal and you’ll make a bazillion bucks.” She smiled at that. “And you can have the best house in San Francisco. Or Bali, or anywhere else, for that matter.”

She gave him a grateful hug. “I’d just settle for my old room with my sister’s stereo blaring through the wall.” She gazed at the hallway longingly one last time before heading down the stairs.

They joined Arturo and Rembrandt as they laughed over the punch line from one of Rembrandt’s stories. Quinn said, “Hey, we could hear you two all the way upstairs. I never knew washing dishes could be so much fun.”

“It’s not the dishes,” Arturo replied, “it’s the company.” He set the last pot on the drying rack. “There. When my wife returns the day after tomorrow, she’ll never know what a disgrace this place was.” He glanced at them with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “And none of you will be here to testify against me.” They smiled at that.

Quinn said, “I guess congratulations are in order. We saw the new room upstairs.”

Arturo smiled proudly. “Yes. It’s safe to say I’m one of the most blessed men on the face of the Earth. This or any other one.” He looked at Quinn. “In fact, if you don’t mind, I could use your help. I need to get a crib in from the garage, and it’s much too bulky for me to handle by myself. Would you mind giving me a hand with it?”

“No, not at all.”

The two men went out to the garage and found a beautiful—but very large and heavy—antique crib covered with a dust cloth. With a mighty effort, they carried it in and hauled it up the stairs to the nursery. Quinn offered to help him clean it up, but Arturo said he would take care of it in the morning. Quinn rested his hand on the crib thoughtfully. “It’s really great that you’re so happy and everything’s going so well for you.”

“Your Arturo wasn’t so lucky, then?”

Quinn’s eyes rested on the crib as he tried to find the right words. “Well, he wasn’t unhappy. But a lot of bad things happened in his life, and he just sort of hardened up a little.”

“What kind of bad things?”

Quinn hadn’t intended to unburden himself, but before he realized it, he was telling this man all about Professor Arturo, his qualities good and bad, his life…and his death. He told him all about sliding, the thrill and terror of it, about worlds strange and familiar, thriving and doomed, peaceful and wretched. He told him how sliding had changed them, especially how he thought it had changed the Professor most of all. “I admired him before, but I was so intimidated by him. He was always so distant, and so formal. I never would have dreamed about being friends with him before we started sliding. But one of the neat things about all this was he changed. I mean…he let us in.”

Arturo smiled slightly at that. “He probably complained a great deal about the inconvenience of the entire adventure, and secretly reveled in it.”

Quinn smiled. “He probably did.”

“There’s something quite stultifying about the well-ordered life. And love has an odd way of knocking you off your well-ordered pins. It certainly did to me. And I suspect the love and friendship all of you offered him did the same to him. And if he needed to be thrown out of his Earth to have that, well, so be it.”

Quinn’s smile was tinged with sadness. “I sure hope he felt that way.”

Arturo studied him for a moment. “…Did you have a chance to say goodbye to him?”

Quinn’s face darkened. “Not really. Everything happened so fast. We had kind of a little memorial, but it wasn’t the same.”

“What would you have liked to tell him?”

He looked at the man who shared his friend’s face. “Just how much I respected him. And liked him. I mean, my dad died when I was a kid, and after we started sliding, and I got to know the Professor, I, well, I guess, he became like a father to me. And maybe I became kind of the son he wished he’d had. And I really miss him.” He blinked a few times, not wanting to cry old tears in front of this stranger. “And I don’t think I ever really told him, I mean in so many words, just how important he was to me. I wish I had. But you always think you’ve got forever.”

Arturo watched Quinn’s face flush with his suppressed emotions. “I’m sure he knows. Some things speak louder than words.”

“I hope so.” Quinn smiled wanly, then looked at the crib. “So, if your kid grows up and builds a sliding machine, tell him _never_ activate the timer before it gets to zero.”

Arturo nodded dutifully. “I’ll write that first thing in his baby book.”

Quinn had to chuckle at that. “Words to live by.” He regarded Arturo gratefully. “Thanks.”

Arturo smiled and nodded. “My pleasure. And thank you for the loan of your muscles. I was afraid our child would have to sleep in the garage until he graduated from high school.”

Quinn laughed, and Arturo laughed with him and patted him on the shoulder as he led the way out into the hallway.

Wade was sitting in a comfortable, cushioned rocking bench on the house’s front porch, sipping an iced tea and enjoying the quiet evening, when she heard Arturo’s laughter spill down the stairs and out through the screen door. She sighed, then smiled sadly. She looked at her watch. It was just turning 9:00. Only an hour to go, and then it would be back into the Russian roulette of sliding. She liked it here. What would be so bad about not joining Maggie on her quest for Rickman? Maybe the others would like to stay, too. Maybe Mrs. Arturo would like her and she could rent a room and be the baby’s nanny. Then again, maybe not. It was a nice thought, anyway.

The screen door opened, and she smiled when Arturo’s backlit figure stepped out onto the porch. “Are you all right out here? You’re not cold, are you?”

She shifted to let him join her on the bench. “No, I’m fine. It’s a beautiful night.”

He looked around at the quiet neighborhood, taking in a deep breath of the crisp air. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? I love this time of year.” He looked at her. “I’d ask if you’re ready to go, but I can see you’ve quite settled in.”

She smiled at that and sat up a little straighter. “I warned the guys they might have to drag me out of here when it’s time to go.” She said absently, “It’s too bad we can’t stay around for a while. I’d love to meet your wife.”

He smiled at that. “I know she’ll be very sorry she missed you. She’s fascinated by all of this sliding business. If she could nick right back, I think she’d jump in with you, given the chance.”

She shook her head with a wizened smile. “I felt that way once.”

A cloud of sadness descended on her, and he wasn’t sure what to say. “Yes, well, any life will have its regrets.”

She didn’t want to think about what her own regrets were, so she looked at him with a detached gaze. “What are yours?”

He thought for a moment. “Well….” He thought for a few more moments, and she smiled as his brow wrinkled and he thought harder.

“Yes?”

“Well, I’ve got them. …But I don’t dwell on them,” he said, trying to make that sound like an answer. She laughed at that. “After all, what would be the point?”

“You can’t lie any better than our Professor could,” she said, and her smile grew wistful. Silence sat between them as she lost her struggle not to think about her deepest regret. This man’s presence both eased and sharpened her pain, at the same time filling and ripping open that great empty spot in her heart.

It wasn’t hard for him to figure out what she was contemplating. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry you lost your friend. I’m sorry I’m not the right one, so everything can be the same again.”

She sighed, then glanced down as she forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” She glanced obliquely at him. “You wouldn’t want to go sliding with us, would you?”

“I don’t think that would go over very well with my wife. I can just see the note on the fridge: ‘Dear, leftovers are on the top shelf. I’m traveling through parallel dimensions with complete strangers. Be back—??? Love, Max.’ Oh, yes, she’d love that.”

Wade chuckled. “Well, if you put it like _that_ ….” She listened to the steady evening symphony of the neighborhood crickets for a few moments, then asked, “What does your wife do?”

“She’s in publishing. Right now, she’s in New York making a ‘power’ deal.”

Wade nodded. That’s where all the money that went into this house came from. “How far along is she in her pregnancy?”

“Six months.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Fabulously. No morning sickness, and she came through the tired phase like a trouper.”

“That’s great,” she said thoughtfully. “I want to have kids someday. But with this sliding, I don’t know that I’ll ever have the chance.” He nodded sympathetically.

She listened to the crickets. She could hear Quinn and Rembrandt talking inside the house, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She glanced at her watch. Almost ten after. Fifty minutes to go. She didn’t want to leave. She liked this place, this Earth—even with the extra sour cream—and she liked this Arturo. Yes, that was the real reason behind this, she understood that, just as she understood that he was a placebo and that they were intrusions into his happy life. But for the first time in a long time, she was afraid to jump into the vortex, afraid of what danger might await them on the other end. She curled up tightly on the cushioned bench.

She could see him looking at her with concern, not knowing what to say. God, she missed the Professor so much. She said in a voice that sounded small even to her own ears, “You’re really nice—incredibly nice—to let us invade your house like this. Really. You don’t understand how nice this is, to have a way station, someplace where,” she sighed as she chose the right words, “where we can just be comfortable for a few hours and relax. With a friend.” She looked at him, and saw a pleased smile spread across his face.

“My dear, it is my tremendous pleasure to help you and your friends. I can only imagine what it’s been like for you, and anything that I can do to help, I’ll gladly do.”

She could feel her composure cracking. “Earlier, I heard you and Quinn upstairs, and you were laughing. …I really miss that laugh.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Could I please make a tape recording of it to take with me?” Her tears spilled out onto her cheeks, but before she could think to be self-conscious, Arturo put an arm around her and drew her into a friendly, comforting embrace. She cried a bit, missing that big hug that went along with the room-filling laugh. She thought she should be embarrassed, weeping here in the arms of a man she didn’t know, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable with this and she needed this a lot more than she’d realized.

But she didn’t wallow, and after a few minutes, she pulled herself together with a small, self-conscious smile. “I’m sorry. But thank you. I needed that.” When she looked at him, she was surprised to see his eyes were a bit red.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “It was rather cathartic for me, too, actually.”

She wiped her eyes, then looked at the handkerchief. She was afraid she would sound incredibly silly, but she asked anyway: “May I keep this?”

It was a simple cotton handkerchief, but when he saw her hanging onto it as if it were a saint’s relic, he chuckled. “Absolutely!” He stood, then patted his chest with satisfaction. “This has been a banner day. How could I have known when I woke up this morning that by evening I too would enjoy the sublime gratification only experienced by Elvis impersonators?”

Wade looked at the handkerchief and noticed her fierce grip on the cloth. She laughed at that, then looked up at Arturo brightly. “Oh, don’t be cruel!”

Arturo roared with laughter, and Wade soaked in the sound, happy to have this memory to take with her. He held out a hand to help her up, and she gladly accepted it.

As they went back into the house, Quinn and Rembrandt were standing in the living room, smiling at them. “You two sound happy.”

Arturo replied, “To my astonishment, I’ve discovered I’m nuthin’ but a hound dog.”

Quinn and Rembrandt reacted with surprised chuckles, but Wade corrected him, “No, I’m the one who’s cryin’ all the time, I’m the hound dog.”

Arturo reacted thoughtfully. “Ah, well, I knew one of us was.” He looked at Quinn. “How much time do you have left?”

He glanced at the timer. “Thirty-eight minutes.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do before you go? Showers, perhaps? How about making a few sandwiches to take with you?”

Rembrandt smiled. “I wouldn’t mind a shower. Thanks, Professor.”

“There’s a fresh load of towels upstairs, on the desk in my office, opposite the bathroom. Help yourself.”

Rembrandt nodded with thanks and headed upstairs.

Quinn said, “And I never turn down free food.”

Wade nodded knowingly to Arturo. “Believe him.”

Arturo chuckled. “Well, let’s see what bachelor rations I’ve got?” They went into the kitchen to investigate.

When the doorbell rang at 9:45, Arturo left the sandwich makers to their task and went to see who was outside. He opened the door, and Maggie recoiled with surprise at the sight of him. “Yes?” he said.

She stared at him for a few moments, then looked at Quinn with relief as he appeared from the kitchen. “Hi, Maggie. You didn’t have any problem with our directions, did you?”

She came in through the door, trying not to be rattled by the sight of her host. “No. For a minute there, I thought you were trying to ditch me. But then when the bartender told me you’d given him the directions and not her,” she said as Wade came out through the kitchen door, “I knew they were okay.”

Wade squinted at that, but said nothing. Arturo looked at Maggie with surprised recognition. “Oh, you’re a Slider.”

“Yeah,” Quinn said, “this is Captain Maggie Beckett.”

“How do you do,” Arturo said, “I’m Maximillian Arturo.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said flatly, still not quite recovered from her shock. “I know.” She joined Quinn.

Wade stepped up next to Arturo and asked in a hushed voice, “You’ve never seen her before?”

“No.”

“None of the other groups of Sliders had a Maggie, huh?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“Oh. …We kinda picked her up when we lost our Professor.”

“Oh. I see.”

They regarded her for a few moments as she spoke quietly with Quinn. The sourness in Wade’s gaze was unmistakable. “She’s okay. If you like that kind of thing.” Arturo fought hard to hide his smile.

Rembrandt appeared down the stairs, happy and refreshed. “Thanks, Professor. I feel like a new man after that shower.”

“Took you long enough,” Quinn said. “We thought you’d gone down the drain.”

Maggie eyed their contented faces sharply as Rembrandt joined them. “Well, you people certainly seem to have made yourselves at home here.”

Without batting an eye, Wade pointedly put her arm around Arturo, and he happily returned the gesture. “Yes, and your point…?”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “How much time we got, Mallory?”

He consulted the timer. “Just under twelve minutes.”

“Well, we better go now so we can find someplace to slide.”

Maggie was already heading for the door when Arturo said, “Actually, I see no reason why you can’t slide from here.”

Wade blinked with surprise. “In the middle of your living room?”

“Why not?” He thought for a moment. “How much turbulence does your vortex kick up?”

“Enough,” Rembrandt answered.

Arturo contemplated that. “I’m willing to risk it. The novelty alone will be worth any small damage.”

If he was willing to take the chance, the others saw no reason to find someplace else to slide. They settled in to wait for the timer.

But with Maggie among them, their surrogate reunion was at an end. Wade got the packed food for their journey, and they spent the last minutes chatting in the living room.

With about a minute to spare, Quinn stood. Arturo and the others got to their feet. Quinn said reluctantly, “It’s just about time.” He stood before Arturo, a happy, melancholy smile on his face. “Thanks. For everything.”

“I assure you, the pleasure has been all mine.”

Quinn smiled at a thought. “Would you like to activate the timer?”

Arturo’s face lit with delight. “I’d love to!” Quinn showed him what to do, and, timer in hand, he regarded his guests. “Well, what would you like to slide through? The bookcase? The fireplace? The front door?”

Quinn said, “It’s your house, it’s your call.”

Arturo gazed around the room like a child with a new toy, then nodded as he looked at the bookcase. He took a breath, then pushed the button. With a rush of energy, the familiar blue vortex opened and distorted the rows of books around its edge. Arturo gushed, “This is fabulous!” He handed the timer back to Quinn as Maggie nodded perfunctorily and leaped into the portal. Arturo shuddered as she disappeared.

Quinn was next. He smiled at his host. “Thanks again.”

“God speed you on your journey home.” Quinn gave him a heartfelt hug good-bye, then jumped into the swirl of blue light.

Rembrandt stood before Arturo. “Thanks for everything, Professor.” He lowered his voice and said confidentially, “You got all the pictures in the house…except the one on your office desk.” Arturo reacted with quiet alarm, but when Rembrandt only winked at him, they shared a knowing smile. “Good luck. Have a great baby.”

Arturo laughed. “I’m sure we will. Have a safe journey.” And then Rembrandt was gone.

Wade’s eyes were brimming as she stepped up to him. “I can’t say goodbye.”

He smiled tenderly at her. “No goodbyes. Remember, there are an infinite number of Maximillian Arturos out there. And while that thought might strike terror in the hearts of physics students everywhere, perhaps you can take some comfort in it.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard, then couldn’t look back as she jumped into the vortex.

He marveled at the surging energy portal for another ten seconds, enraptured by its siren song, and then he took a step back as it closed onto itself and the room was filled with a sudden silence. He looked at the bookcase, which moments earlier had been a gateway to an unknown dimension, and let out a held breath. Then he looked around the room and saw papers and books scattered across the floor.

As Arturo was picking up the debris, the phone rang. When he answered it, he heard the most beautiful voice in the world. “Hi, hon. What’re you doing?”

He sighed contentedly as he glanced at the clock. “You’re up much too late, my dear. I should scold you. But I won’t, because I’ve been missing you terribly this evening. I wish you were here.”

“Your wish is my command. I’m calling from the airport. I’ll be home in half an hour. I just wanted to give you a little warning so you could pick up the house.” She had meant that as a bit of a joke, but as he surveilled the scattered mess on the living room floor, he knew the joke was on her.

“Hurry home. I’ll have tea waiting.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Wade Arturo walked through the front door and into her husband’s welcoming embrace. She laughed as he sat on the sofa and lifted her into his lap. He beamed at her. “You are, truly, a sight for sore eyes.”

She glanced around the tidy room. “Looks pretty good. No wild parties, huh?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

She regarded his pleased smile. “You look happy with yourself. What have you been up to?”

“You will not believe who spent the evening here.”

Wade thought for a few moments, then her face opened with surprise. She stared at him, and when he started to laugh, she blurted out, “More Sliders?” He nodded, and she shook her head. “When did they leave?”

“About three minutes before you called.”

She threw her head back with a groan of protest. “Oh, so close! How long were they here?”

“Only a few hours.”

“What a shame. I would have loved to meet them. How did you find them?”

“Imagine my surprise this evening when I was picking up dinner at Dubroff’s and there _you_ were, sitting at a table, staring at me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You got dinner at Dubroff’s?”

He hadn’t intended to mention it, but now he was caught. He said in a meek voice, “I got the light stroganoff.”

“Yeah, two scoops of sour cream instead of four.” She rested her hands on his stomach. “Look, I know you want to go through this pregnancy with me, but really, I’m the only one who’s supposed to get big and round.”

“Honestly,” he protested, “I was very good the rest of the time. But I was missing you terribly today and thought I deserved a special treat.”

She regarded him. “Then you won’t mind if I go check the trash to see what other take-out containers are in there?”

He moaned. “Madam, you cut me to the quick! But then, I suppose that is your intention.” She laughed and finally relented.

She looked around the room, and something odd caught her attention. “Where are the pictures of us?” She looked at him quizzically as he grew serious.

“I put them away.”

“Why?”

“It’s rather complicated.”

She eyed him skeptically. “More complicated than traveling between dimensions?”

“In a way, yes. You see, my counterpart in this group was killed a few slides ago.”

She caught her breath. “Oh, how terrible.”

“And I was their chance to say goodbye to him.”

Wade smiled proudly at her husband. “You’re so good. But what does that have to do with the photos?”

He explained reluctantly, “Well, with this group, that Wade viewed him as something of a father figure.” Her eyebrows shot up at that. “And given how grieved she was, I think it would have confused her horribly to see pictures of us.”

She contemplated that for a few moments. “Okay. I can live with that.”

He rested his hands on her rounding belly. “You’re so good.”

A playful spark lit her eyes. “And you were a perfect gentlemen, weren’t you?”

“Of course. As I always am. In fact, if there were a photograph in the dictionary illustrating ‘perfect gentleman’….”

“…It would be a picture of you,” she said, finishing their familiar joke.

“And a very good likeness, too,” he added, and they laughed.

She grew thoughtful. “It’s odd, though. Was there a Quinn Mallory in this group?” He nodded. “Were they a couple, too?”

“I had the impression they used to be.”

She shook her head. “This is so weird.”

“How do you mean?”

“That in all the other groups we’ve known about, there’s never been another ‘us.’ It kind of makes me feel like we’re a fluke.”

He frowned pointedly. “Madam, I refuse to be held responsible for rampant stupidity in this or any other dimension.”

She smiled at that.

He continued in a serious voice, “I was glad to help them, but I confess talking with her was sometimes quite difficult. Seeing her grief made me think about what you’ll be going through someday, when I’m gone and you’ll be alone.”

She regarded her husband tenderly, then said, “If you stop eating at Dubroff’s and keep going to the gym, you can probably put that off for a long time.”

He had to smile at that. “All right. To make you happy, first thing in the morning I will arrange to have Dubroff’s burned to the ground.” She chuckled. “But tell me, my dear, what are you doing home so early? I thought you were coming back on Thursday.”

She smiled proudly. “You have sitting in your lap the future author of a three-book deal, with an option for another three—and a clause for a very healthy bonus if there’s a movie deal.”

He laughed with delight. “That’s splendid! And they signed so soon!”

“Once they saw the sample chapters, they were begging me to sign.” She looked at her husband. “I still feel kind of guilty. Writing a book about sliding based on someone else’s journal…. I feel like a fraud.”

“You’re not a fraud,” he said with a gently reassuring squeeze of her belly. “She gave you permission—indeed, her blessing—to use her journal. She wanted you to tell her story. And always remember that Shakespeare didn’t make up a plot in his entire life. The important thing in writing is not originality—it’s how you tell the story. And how you tell it is magnificent.”

She smiled tiredly. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“I seem to recall your mentioning it once.”

She kissed him. “Where’s that tea you promised?”

They got up and headed towards the kitchen. “Chamomile?”

“Perfect.” She took his hand. “…Were you tempted to jump into the vortex with this group when they left?”

He squeezed her hand. “For about one second. And then I thought, ‘How could I possibly find a better Earth than this?’”

Her radiant smile lit the room as they disappeared into the kitchen.

***


End file.
